And those that had money looked good but weren’t too happy
And those who didn’t have money didn’t look so good
And weren’t too happy either and in a city of three million
two hundred and sixty nine thousand nine hundred eighty four
Everyone was lonely
Notes from the Golden Orange
EppsNet Archive: Music
Yo-Yo Ma’s principal instrument is a Montagnana cello built in 1733. – Strings Magazine
He plays a cello built in 1733!? In 300 years, we’ve learned nothing about making cellos?!
Just us kids in the parking lot
Out here givin’ it all we got
We don’t want to get old and die
And there ain’t nothing we wouldn’t try
Ya know we could really have it all
Our kid’s gonna graduate next fall
I could take retirement in 10 years
It’s a damn short movie
How’d we ever get here?
Just us kids hangin’ out today
Watchin’ our long hair turnin’ gray
Not so skinny maybe not so free
Not so many as we used to be
Just give me one thing, Lord
That I can hold on to
To believe in this livin’
Is just a hard way to go
I’m an engineer. If you ask me to solve a problem like Maria, I’ll solve it.
I know the lyrics to a lot of songs . . . not current hits so much but if we’re listening to an oldies type of radio station, which we, the Epps family, are doing in the car right now, I pretty much know every song they play.
“I should be a singer,” I announce. “I would have a tremendous repertoire of songs.”
“But you can’t sing,” my son says.
“Hmmm . . . that’s a legitimate point that I don’t really have an answer for.”
She don’t like her eggs all runny
She thinks crossin’ her legs is funny
She looks down her nose at money
She gets it on like the Easter Bunny
She’s my baby I’m her honey
I’m never gonna let her go
He ain’t got laid in a month of Sundays
I caught him once and he was sniffin’ my undies
He ain’t too sharp but he gets things done
Drinks his beer like it’s oxygen
He’s my baby
And I’m his honey
Never gonna let him go
Well, you know, you better free your mind instead . . .
I don’t feel safe in this world no more
I don’t want to die in a nuclear war
I want to sail away to a distant shore
And make like an ape man.
I have a quote for you on that “One-Hit Wonder” thing. I’d like to go on record right here saying, whoever that disc jockey was that coined that phrase, well he’s a no-hit wonder! I mean, it can get rude. A DJ did that to me one time in his introduction. I turned to him and said, “Well, you’re a no-hit wonder. What have you ever done?” Some people have five records that sell a million each. Some sell none. I’ve had one that sold 30 million! And I’ve outlived that one record. I’ve been 38 years at this and it’s still going.
RIP, Frankie Ford
I have long maintained that the best way to kill someone and get away with it is to push them off a cliff. It’s simple, clean. no need to dispose of evidence, and reasonable doubt is almost assured.
Harold Henthorn scouted the remote area of the popular park 75 miles north of Denver nine times before bringing his wife with him. He was searching for the “perfect place to murder someone,” where there would be no witnesses and no chance of her surviving, prosecutor Suneeta Hazra said.
Don’t make nine trips to reconnoiter the scene of the crime. Don’t even make one trip. It’s both unnecessary and highly suspect.
Prosecutors argued the fatal fall was reminiscent of the death of Henthorn’s first wife, Sandra Lynn Henthorn, who was crushed when a car slipped off a jack while they were changing a flat tire in 1995 — several months after their 12th wedding anniversary. Henthorn has not been charged in that case, but police reopened the investigation after Toni Henthorn’s death.
Details of the earlier case dominated the trial. A paramedic who responded to the 1995 accident testified that Henthorn didn’t seem upset by what had happened, and an investigator said a shoe print found on the vehicle suggested it might have been pushed.
There’s a reason magicians never repeat the same trick. Just count yourself lucky for getting away with killing the first wife. A shoe print?! No . . . don’t kill any more wives.
Why was the first wife under the car to change a tire? I’ll lift the tire, honey, and you get under there and help me pull it on from the back. I would not want to explain that in a court of law.
She inherited a million bucks and when she died it came to me
I can’t help it if I’m lucky
I don’t know if this is good news or bad news. It would help to know what “trains” means but I read the article and it doesn’t say. Reporters need to be more inquisitive.
Can someone with no knowledge of computer science or programming be “trained” to teach computer science or programming? What would that entail? How long would it take?
Can someone who’s never played an instrument or listened to a piece of music be “trained” to teach a music class?
Can someone who’s never picked up a drawing pencil or visited a museum be “trained” to teach an art class?
Can someone who doesn’t speak Spanish be “trained” to teach a Spanish class?
The ceiling on any of these approaches seems very low compared to hiring actual programmers, musicians, artists and Spanish speakers . . .
Thus spoke The Programmer.
Photo by Siderola
Guess what, Dad and I finally figured out Pandora,
and after all those years of silence, our old music
fills the air. It fills the air, and somehow, here,
at this instant and for this instant only
—perhaps three bars—what I recall
equals all I feel, and I remember all the words.